It was Easter weekend, only a few weeks ago now. We had oldest boy and the wee ones over, plus Grandpa, youngest boy and, of course, Frankie the dog. Add in me & Hubbs and we had ourselves a full table. The kitchen was brimming with the scents of ham and roast turkey, double stuffed potatoes, steamed vegetables, salads and desserts. The table, loaded with place settings and bunnies, was peppered with talk of egg hunts later on.
As we gathered, little MJ, the youngest of the bunch, leaned over and asked, “Nana, can we pray?”
“Of course we can,” I said. Seeing her delighted smile, I asked “Would you like to say the blessing, Luvee?”
Shyly she nodded.
Ignoring her brother’s eye roll, she took his hand firmly in hers and watched as he took Pops’ hand. She reached for me and I, in turn, reached for Grandpa who reached for oldest boy who reached for youngest who reached for Hubbs/Pops. Together, we completed a circle. Even Frankie, lying at Grandpa’s feet, was in on it.
Three and half years old, she waited for everyone to bow their heads before she started to sing, “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little to ones to Him belong; they are weak but He is strong.”
And with that, she clapped, we cheered, and the love at the table was palpable.